Rubber
by Avelona-and-Sally
Summary: Asteroth wasn't that evil. He'd left them condoms, after all. Max/Julie


Astaroth had one sick sense of humor.

Max McDaniels was not your average teenager. His speed could be compared to that of a peregrine falcon, his strength to that of a polar bear and his determination to protect his friends and family could not be compared to anything, for it rivaled even the brightest, hottest passions. That said, he was still a teenager (a teenage _boy,_ to be precise).

The absence of everything the future had come up with was devastating – electricity, cures for deadly diseases, hundreds upon thousands of itty-bitty useful things like zippers and toothpaste, all gone. But there was something even worse, if that seemed at all possible.

The absence of condoms.

In his (and everyone else's opinion), he and Julie hadn't been dating that long. But when the world was in danger, when you were faced with the possibility (probability!) of someone you liked (loved?) dying, their life ending and you being unable to stop it, emotions tended to get more intense.

Take that one time, for instance.

It was outside, in weather chilly enough to merit him wrapping her in his jacket while still wearing it himself (she told him, grinning _and_ blushing, that that was her exact reason for being outside without a coat). Her nose was red, which he liked to tease her about, because he knew she liked when he bit her lip, and the only thing he could think of was to make her pout enough that he could easily catch it between his teeth, and some banter would've been just the thing to get her irritated enough to do so.

What he wasn't expecting was her to turn around, still inside his coat, and to catch his mouth in a hot kiss, tongue eager to enter his mouth. He didn't complain (who would?), but immediately pulled her closer to himself and did his best not to cause them to topple over onto the cold ground.

Her hands (which were _cold – why_ hadn't she at least worn gloves?) slid under the sweater he was wearing beneath his coat and made goosebumps rise against his will. In response, his hand went under her shirt to rub circles onto the dip between her hip bones on her back (she giggled, but, for the life of him, he couldn't understand _why_). Both of them pulled away for a moment, and kind of…looked at each other, breath coming hard and misting in the cold air.

She leaned in for a kiss again, and this time he went past her mouth, exploring all the contours of her neck, stopping once to leave a hickey (which she wouldn't stop harping on him for afterwards; she didn't like wearing scarves), mayhap pressing too hard because her fingers _had gone into his pants._

Yes, he liked it. It made him all the fun kinds of nervous and all-too eager (as was rather _evident_), but it had been cold outside. _Really_ cold. He did not want to get into anything more out here because they would invariably end up on the ground and that was just not okay when there was frost on the grass. He pulled away, kissing her still-red nose and just hugged her, which she didn't seem to mind (and he didn't really mind it, either).

That was the first time they'd gone _that _far, but it wasn't the farthest they'd gone.

There was another time, in her room, when it was a _lot_ colder outside than it had been that time and they were cuddling together under a blanket and…

He'd gotten hot, so he removed his sweater and she followed, apparently _very_ hot because she took her tights off under her skirt, too, and looked at him like he should really say something (as if he'd know what). He'd been a little distracted then by her tights, and the little red marks on her skin from where the designs had thickened the cloth in some places and wondered, idly, if the raw, raspberry-colored skin there would taste any different from the pale, untouched-by-sunlight skin right next to it. (She was still looking at him.)

He reached out to trace a finger over the red designs and she blushed, saying something about how it was embarrassing and she wished he wouldn't notice. He kind of ignored her, though, because right then his tongue was tracing the designs (she was so quiet he was worried she wasn't breathing) and her fingers were in his hair, rubbing behind his ears (which felt remarkably good for a shaky hand bending cartilage) and she was murmuring something that he wasn't listening to right then.

She bent over to kiss the part of his neck that was exposed to her between his hair and his shirt (her hair, feather-soft and _ticklish, _warned him right before her breath made the tiny hairs there stand on end) and he moved to look at her (because, really, it should've been his mouth her lips were on, not the back of his neck) and caught her by surprise, liking the way her lashes fluttered down right before he made contact.

He moved on top of her then (his hearing could pick up her breathing now, and it was quick), their kisses wet and fast, occasionally catching the side of the mouth by accident, and his tongue very much interested in every contour of hers. She pulled away, eyes still closed (how did she do that? He always bumped into her nose when he didn't open his), and moved down, licking and nipping at his jaw, hands unbuttoning his shirt, moving downwards to leave butterfly kisses and blow raspberries on his neck.

His hands weren't doing anything more productive than moving through her hair, but she didn't seem to mind, and they came back together for more mouth-on-mouth, though this time it was slower, longer (and somehow, in all of this, she'd managed to climb on top on him, her hair tickling his neck every time she moved her head).

He remembered putting his hand on her breast and feeling his face turn bright red, even more so when she pressed herself against his erection in return, an enormous blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck (probably continuing further, but her shirt blocked his view).

They couldn't really get past that, then, only kissing and saying how it was okay to touch here or there, just not so hard 'cause then it hurt, and eventually, they returned to the cuddle-hug they'd been enjoying before he'd gotten it into his head to strip.

And then there was It. (Or, rather, the time they'd done It.)

It was a little fast and a lot more uncomfortable than they'd thought it would be (they were both terrified of being walked in on, even though it was in her room and she'd locked the door) and there was a lot of talking during the whole thing (which wasn't what they were used to; usually, their make-out sessions were silent), again saying things along the lines of, 'yes, it's okay to do that,' 'don't pull my hair so hard, it hurts' and so on.

Afterwards, they'd done it two more times (both a lot more enjoyable) and right now they were just extremely comfortable with each other (as David liked to point out, usually with a grin that said exactly how much he knew about how far they'd gone), not blushing at all when his hand brushed her thigh when he reached for something, or when she straightened his clothes, or when he adjusted her stance during training.

Was it any wonder the disappearance of modern conveniences like birth control was a big disappointment for the two of them?

And then, knowing Asteroth's love of embarrassing Max to high heaven, should he really have been surprised at the enormous pile of condom boxes lying in the center of his room, a smug moth circling over it and occasionally landing on the note _('Use them wisely. 3)_ that was lying on top?

Behind him, the guys were sniggering at him (even David, who didn't even seem to notice that an agent of the enemy had gotten in).

Yes. Asteroth had a sick sense of humor. (Though Max _was_ grateful for the extra help.)

…

…

A/N: I am so dead. But this stuff is just so fun to write!


End file.
